Small Treasures

As I search for a tablecloth to place on the table, I came across the small treasure of a handwoven cloth I sometimes drape at an angle across the kitchen table.  Carefully folded and placed at the bottom of the drawer, this cloth seldom is used for everyday use.  Needing to be carefully laundered so that the vibrant colors of blue, yellow, red, and orange remain as true as they were on the day I bought the cloth, it remains tucked away so that it won’t be ruined.  Don’t we all have items such as these?

Today, I need a touch of vibrancy in the kitchen.  I need something that makes me think of cultures that are not my own. I need something that reminds me of days gone by.  This tablecloth fits that need perfectly, besides, I decide, beautiful cloths are to used, not just tucked away in a drawer.

While the tablecloth is a treasure to me, it holds no true value to anyone else.  If a neighbor were to stop by, or a family member, the visitor might note the cloth and might even wonder why I had selected it for my table covering.  They might even ask where I got it, or maybe not.  They might think I picked it up one day when I was shopping at Pier One, or World Market.  

I doubt they would ever suspect that I bought this tablecloth in Oaxaca, Mexico, in the Spring of 2005, when I traveled to Oaxaca to earn University credit from the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs.  The name of the course was Oaxaca, A Mexican Cultural Experience.  

It seems nearly impossible that it has been thirteen years since I had the amazing experience of traveling to Oaxaca with a wonderful group of teachers from throughout Colorado to learn the wealth of cultural aspects found in Oaxaca.  The class was taught by a Spanish teacher from Colorado Springs whom had spent time in Oaxaca and was familiar with the area and the people.  All of whom took the class were either Spanish teachers or teachers of linguistically diverse students.

As memories of that time came back to me when I spread the tablecloth on my table, soon I found myself revisiting the memories I made by looking at all the photos I took while I was there.  

Photos and mementos.  Those are the small treasures of life.  

I found I even still had the itinerary for the trip!  It is a good thing I have the itinerary  because otherwise, I probably would have already forgotten many of the details of where we went and what we saw.  The first day we were there, we visited the magnificent Montezuma cypress tree known as the El Arbol de Tule , the largest tree in the world.  I didn’t take a photo that captured the size of this tree because I didn’t have a camera that would do it justice.  Instead, I studied parts of the tree and photographed those parts.

We then toured the church nearby called, Santa Maria del Tule, 

Later, we went to an archeological site called Mitla.  When we were near this archeological site, we saw women draping weavings for sale over the fences made of cactus.

Before I went to Oaxaca, a dear friend had told me to make sure I purchased some of the hand woven cloths that I would find.  These cloths draped on a fence were the first I saw.  I did purchase a cloth here, but not the blue one I use as a table cloth.  I purchased that cloth when we did a guided tour of the city of Oaxaca.  In one the parks that we toured, there were many people demonstrating their weaving techniques.  Weaving is a major industry in Oaxaca.

I’ve always loved Mexico, but Oaxaca has a very special part in my heart when I think of Mexico.

This is a photo of Retired English Teacher before she retired!

 Memories flood back of the beautiful colors of the flowers, 

of the beautiful clothing the women wore,

of the colorfully painted buildings where I spent time in the plaza and on the roof top of the casa where we lived for our time in Oaxaca.

I remember the colorful kitchens where the food we ate was prepared, 

by woman grinding the corn used for our tortillas in ancient ways.

The yellows of lemons, the greens of limes added flavor and color to the blue corn tortilla chips that were graciously served to us in a restaurant that offered us a cool respite from the summer sun on the day when I bought this tablecloth.

All of these memories come flooding back to me when I spread this tablecloth across my kitchen table.  

This is not just any ordinary cloth.  It is one of my treasures.  

When I am gone and my children go through my things, will they place any value on this handwoven piece of cloth?  Will one of them think, “I’d like that because I could use it when I have friends over for margaritas and Mexican food.”  

Will they have any idea of the memories this cloth holds for me?  No.  I don’t think they will.  Why would they?  That is just how it is when others look at the small treasures of other people.  They don’t know the meaning that the owner of that small trinket, vase, necklace, ring, piece of cloth, or photograph attached to each sentimental item found throughout the house.  

Photographs, trinkets, pieces of cloth have value because the owner of that item attaches meaning and value to them.  

I treasure this cloth not simply because it is a beautiful colorful cloth.  I treasure it because it reminds me of another time in my life when I traveled to Mexico to be exposed to rich cultural experiences in a place rich with culture.  

I treasure this cloth because it reminds me of a time when I was learning more about how to teach children from  linguistic and cultural backgrounds that were different from mine.  

I had a chance to visit a village school.  As I observed the children participate in opening exercises for the day, I reflected upon how one of those same children would respond to entering my classroom for the first time in the United States.

This tablecloth is just a material item.  On its own merit, it has little value except to add a bit of color to my table. It provides a vibrant background for me to study as I eat my breakfast.

This cloth was handwoven by a woman I never knew whom had incredible skill, great artistic ability, and was able to take colorful yarns and weave them into patterns and symbols that had meaning in her culture.   

Now, that weaving graces the table of  a woman from a completely different culture whom values the cloth as a treasure not just because of its beauty, but it represents honoring the culture and skill of the one whom created this household item.  

I treasure this cloth because it reminds me of one of the classes that I took to earn University credit after I had earned my Master of Arts Degree in Second Language Learning.  This course, Oaxaca, A Mexican Cultural Experience,  taught me so much because I was able to gain new insight into just one the cultures that were represented in my classroom.

I treasure this cloth because it reminds me of the beauty I saw everyday in place I would never have visited if I had not earned an advanced degree and was not in a profession that required me to keep taking courses in my area of study during the years I was teaching.   

I treasure this cloth because it reminds me just how many wonderful experiences I have had the good fortune to have in my life.

Objects found within a home are seldom just objects.  

Usually such objects hold great meaning for the one to whom the object belongs.  

What special treasures do you have in your home that remind you of a special time in your life?

Memorial Day to the Fourth of July ~ Part I

No blogging has been done since May!  I’ve had a lot going on, so today, I hope to catch up just a bit.

Just where DO I start?  It seems that so much has been going on in my world since the first of 2018 that I just have not had the time, the energy, or the inclination to blog about anything.

Mid-May to Memorial Day

In mid-May, I flew to Utah for to attend my grandson Bridger’s graduation from high school.  I had the most wonderful time celebrating him and his accomplishments and spending time with family.  

Bridger, the youngest child of my oldest child, my son Ryan, is one of those very special kids that has always brought joy to each person he meets.  Honestly, I’ve never met anyone who knows Bridger who doesn’t comment on what a special person he is.  His genuineness comes through in every conversation.  He’s an adventuresome kid with a great personality and good looks.  All of that only takes you so far.  Thankfully, he is also very smart and he is a hard worker who is self driven.  He plans on attending Utah State University in Logan, Utah, next year.  I’m very proud of him and can’t wait to see what the future will bring to him.

Grandma Sally with Bridger
Bridger on the big screen
Son Ryan with Bridger and Daughter-in-law Sheridan

I must admit that some tears were shed when Bridger graduated.  When he tried on his cap and gown, he gathered up his gorgeous curly long brown hair into a thick pony tail as he looked into the mirror  and contemplated how the cap would stay on that head of hair.  As he gathered up his long locks into that thick pony tail, I saw the nape of his neck and instantly saw the exact same looking curls as my daughter Julie had at her neckline.  I then saw a pony tail just like one she would make on hot summer days. Those unique similarities caused me to become overcome with emotions.  I sobbed.  I must admit that I hated bringing a sad reminder to such a time of joy, but that is how grief hits sometimes.  In the tears, I rejoiced that Bridger rocks that beautiful mane and knew that Julie would be so proud of his hair and would say that they were genetic twins when it came to hair.  

I thought of the photo I had of Julie holding Bridger right after he was born.  She was living in Salt Lake at the time with Sheridan and was attending the University of Utah.  Now, eighteen years later, Julie is no longer with us to celebrate this occasion, but Sheridan is now married to Bridger’s father and Sheridan is the one assisting him in his graduation dress rehearsal.  Sheridan met my son at Julie’s memorial service.  I will always be so grateful for the deep and treasured friendship that Julie had with Sheridan that resulted in Sheridan joining our family.

And then, there were more tears on graduation day.  Sheridan has loved Bridger so much and has so loved being his mom that she is really having a hard time with him graduating and going on to college.  Her great boys, Max and Henry, are also a bonus that this family gained when Ryan and Sheridan married.  Max, Henry, and Bridger are as tight as any brothers you will find.  Yes, the smile on Sheridan’s face is bright and beautiful, but her eyes had great big tears falling from them.  Mine did too.  There is a lot of joy and love in this celebratory photo.

There were other great family times that I was able to have while I was in Utah spending time with my daughter and son and their families.  Times like these are treasures.  

Son Ryan, Sally, daughter Keicha, and grandchildren Gillian
Bridger & Regan.

I stayed in my very first Airbnb when I went to Utah.  The place I found was in Layton, Utah, which is midway between where my son lives and my daughter lives.  I loved staying in a place that became like a home away from home where I could stay up as late as I wanted, or go to bed whenever I wanted.  When I got up in the morning, it was great to have a kitchen where I could fix breakfast and make some coffee.  Also, I loved having a comfy couch where I could read, visit, or rest after a hectic day with the family.  This won’t be the only time I use Airbnb.  

Memorial Day is always a difficult time for me and for my family because my daughter took her life on May 29, 2010, on the Friday before Memorial Day.  My children, and those whom love me most and are always the most supportive, know just how hard that weekend and the days surrounding May 29th are for me and family.  I received many texts and calls from my family and friends asking, “Are you ok?”  Or, “I love you.  I am thinking of you.”  I so appreciate the gestures of kindness, concern, empathy, and love.

Most years on Memorial Day I go to the cemetery to decorate the graves, or I try to do a special activity to honor Julie’s memory. This year, I decided not to do any commemorative activities, but instead, I decided to take the day as it came while practicing self-care.  

On the 26th, I took some time to record my thoughts.  I said I was raw.  My emotions were fragile.  I recorded how raw I looked and how raw I felt.  In the rawness, I also recorded how I was rejoicing because I learned more from the great loss of a daughter about love than I ever could have learned any other way.  

On that day, the 26th of May, I also rejoiced because I had yet another day and another summer to look forward to with hope and joy.  I took the day to begin planting a bit more in my impossible garden.  I had flowers to plant.  That always brings me joy.  In my devotions for that day, I was reminded that the Lord’s mercies are new each morning.  I reflected on beautiful scripture card that I keep on my desk.

I love this verse.  I am held by One whom will keep me from stumbling.  What comfort this assurance bring me.

On Memorial Day itself, May 28th this year, we had a picnic in our little village where we live.  The day was warm and sunny.  A neighbor and his wife graciously set up tables in their driveway and in the garage where all of us in our HOA community could visit while eating great picnic type food.  It marked the official start of summer.  I was more than ready to see the season arrive.

As I toured my yard trying to decide where to plant flowers I had to snap a photo of this poor little tree because in many ways, this poor little tree is a perfect representation of the kind of winter I had.  

I planted the tree, a more mature Alberta pine, last fall because I didn’t want to wait for a smaller one to grow.  I had planted a smaller Alberta pine four or five years ago, and it had never been nibbled on by deer.  I observed that mature Alberta pines were thriving all over the neighborhood.  I even saw this label at a local nursery: 

The label gives the name of the tree that I planted, and it states that it is good choice to buy because it is deer resistant.  

I guess the deer in my neighborhood can’t read.  Or, maybe they haven’t had access to the labels and lists that inform gardeners about “deer resistant” plants.  

Several factors figured into the demise of this tree.  We had a terribly dry winter.  The poor deer were starving, and they were thirsty.  My tree was most likely the tastiest looking tree in the neighborhood.  It had been well watered, and the needles must have looked tender and moist and appetizing.  My tree became a food sources for desperate animals.

Desperate creatures do desperate things.  I felt like that tree through most of the late winter and and early spring.  I felt events beyond my control, and people within my family of origin structure chipping away at me.  I felt attacked and stripped as others nibbled away at me when I found myself in a situation I did not create and was powerless to change.  Yep, that tree represented a lot of what I was experiencing this spring.

Quite honestly, during this time, I just didn’t feel like blogging.  I did a lot of journaling.  Writing always helps me when I am going through troubling experiences.  Writing in my journal helps me because by writing in my own personal journal I can record my thoughts, experiences, reactions, feelings, and emotions in a safe place.  Writing gives me a sounding board.  Writing also allows me to sort out all of those thoughts, feelings, and emotions that assail during times of loss, stress, joy, change, or tension.  Writing gives me a chance to reflect, to reconcile my emotions, and reflect upon what is going on in my life.  

Somehow, I got through the difficult month of May.  During the month of May, I also was able to celebrate the graduation of a dear grandson while also having the opportunity to spend time with children and grandchildren.  May brought time plant some flowers, and to spend more time out of doors rejoicing over the beauty found in my neighborhood.  This hillside is just around the corner from my home.  

Just a mile and a half from our home is a beautiful spot that was once a sanatorium.  It is now a retreat center, a nursing home, and the setting includes a cemetery and a church.  I love to walk on the grounds. Truly, I am grateful to live in this beautiful part of the world.  Spring, summer, and fall, I enjoy walking in the special places.  

On the very last day of May, I stopped for a late lunch after running errands and had a serendipitous meeting with a high school friend, her husband, and friend of theirs when they happened to eating lunch at the same Panera where I stopped.  We all lunched together, shared stories and laughter and marveled just how amazing life can be when we have chance meetings and are able to spend time together in rich conversation.

All in all, while the winter had been a rough one for me, and while May had certainly had its low points, it also mostly had some wonderful moments filled with love, family, friends, and milestones.  

More later.

Today, my fellow teachers in Pueblo, Colorado, are involved in the fourth day of a strike.  I hope to write more about this later, but this short post is to serve as an encouragement to those dear former colleagues, students, and friends now walking the picket line.

Each day after lunch I eat one, only one, piece of dark chocolate.  

Today, the chocolates were wrapped in pink. 

 Pink the color the strikers are wearing. 

Each chocolate piece has a message written inside the foil.

Today’s message:

 “Know you have the power within you.”  signed Mom.  

I had just read in my journal about an encounter I had many years ago when I took a stand against power in a school where I taught in the town where the strike is now taking place. I had written a letter to the person in power, a letter I had forgotten about, a letter I wish I now had in my possession, where I had spoken truth to power.  

I told a trusted friend about the letter and worried about the ramifications of having written such letter to my immediate supervisor.  While I still was happy that I had written that private letter where I had said what needed to be said,  I worried about what the ramifications might be in the coming school year.  My trusted friend assured me I most likely would not be confronted because I had spoken truth to power and in speaking that truth I had exposed this person’s less than professional actions that he had taken towards me.  Beyond speaking truth to power and exposing the wrong behavior, he said I had shown this person that

he couldn’t 

intimidate me 

because

I had 

personal power

that was 

willing to confront

his underhanded ways.

Teachers, keep up the fight.

Know you have great power within you

 because you are willing to confront

 those whom would seek to intimidate you

 and silence you

 to keep you from using 

your awesome voices 

for change.  

Stay strong.

Keep speaking truth to power.

#ENOUGH

Enough

In days of old when I was a student,

or,

in days of old when I was a high school English teacher,

we might have had a word study lesson in English class.

Enough,

an adjective,

describes when need or want is sufficient or adequate.

I have had enough nonsense.

Enough,

a pronoun,

used in place of a noun to denote adequate quantity or sufficiency.

Have you had enough?

Enough,

 can be used as an adverb of degree.

Yes, I’ve experienced enough of this nonsense.

Enough,

an interjection.

Enough!  Stop this nonsense.

The students in today’s schools have lessons to teach the rest of us before they can continue to learn traditionally taught lessons on English, math, science, history, civics.

Enough!
an interjection has become a rallying cry.

#Enough
The symbol and word began to appear in social media sites after the school shooting last month.
The symbol and the word already denote a visual message that stands for:
No more gun violence.
No more school shootings.

#Enough
written on poster board and lifted high,
becomes the symbol for a movement.

#Enough

Using this word as a rally cry,

 students from Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School

 unite, organize,

 and bring together hundreds of thousands of other students

 to march in cities across the nation to send a message to the leaders of this country that they want action against gun violence now.

#Enough,

on poster board is now a

oriflamme for

March for Our Lives.

Marchers lift  oriflammes where the cries of their hearts have been written with these words:

#Enough.

Today, the students of Marjory Stoneman Douglas, rallying behind the use of one word, taught me not a grammar lesson, nor did they teach me a traditional word study lesson. They have taught me how much power there can be when one word is used by many voices to send a message.

The lesson these students taught the rest of us today came out of what they have learned in school.

They have learned, many by personal experience, that schools are no longer safe.

187,000 students have been exposed to gun violence in school since Columbine.

The students of Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School 

 have learned that if there is to be change, 

they must be change agents.

Today,

students across the nation came together under the rallying cry of 

ENOUGH

to teach the rest of us just how powerful a word can be when it is used to send a message of change.

ENOUGH

I could not get enough of watching the beautiful brave students from 

Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School

use the voices they found and developed after unspeakable horror visited them when 

they attended school on 

February 14, 2018.

On this date, a gunman took the lives of their classmates and teachers in a senseless act of violence.

On this date, school shootings and gun violence became personal to them.

On this day, they came together with one cry,

ENOUGH.

These students learned how to debate in debate class,

but soon they were using the skills they learned in debate class to argue for their cause:

there must be stricter gun control laws in our nation.

The arguments they made for their cause were solid, well researched, honest,  and factual.

No longer were these students just preparing for a debate tournament.

They were preparing to present their arguments on the world stage.

Their arguments were soon heard around the world.

These students had learned lessons in civics about democracy and how it is supposed to work.

Today, they showed us what democracy looks like.

They rallied.

They marched.

They demanded change.

They used their voices to show the world and this nation that our Freedoms are beautiful when we use those Freedoms to strengthen our Democracy. 

**************

Today, I have again been proud to be an American.

I sobbed into the dish towel I held in my hand as I alternately cleaned the kitchen and watched the

March for Our Lives

on television as it occurred in Washington D.C.

I sobbed for the lives lost in a place that should be safe: school.

I sobbed as I thought of the trauma and shock and grief  that the students of Marjory Stoneman Douglas experienced at school.

I sobbed as I thought of how this trauma marred their young lives and sobbed as I thought of how they will carry this trauma and will have to make sense of it for the rest of their lives.

I sobbed because I was overcome with emotion as I looked at their beautiful, brave faces.

I sobbed as I listened to inspirational speeches they delivered with an eloquence and articulation that we rarely, if ever, hear in our world of politics today.

I sobbed because I saw their respect for our Freedoms and for our Nation, and for each other.

I sobbed because though they were young, they were wise and wonderful, and they were united, and they were honest, and they were respectful, and they were real.

They were a breath of fresh air which we do not deserve to have because we, the Children of the Sixties, have become calloused, and cynical, and have forgotten what it is like to believe change can happen when people march for what is right.

I sobbed because I again believe that the people can and will rise up and speak against:

 social injustice, 

greed, and 

political corruption.

I sobbed because I saw our 

future,

our hope,

our children,

stand united 

giving a message

that says

#Enough is enough.

This bright, articulate, passionate, organized, and intelligent generation 

truly has given me hope for the future.

I join with them by sending this message:

#enough.

It is time for change.

The lives of our children continue to be at risk.

I hope I’m around for another couple of decades so I can see just what this next generation of citizens and voters will do with the lessons they learned in school.  

For now, on this day, I was so moved, and so proud to call them my fellow Americans as I watched how they were using their voices to inspire change across America.

#Enough

Not one more.

#Enough

Not one more student should die at school.

#Enough

Not one more teacher will have come between a gunman and the students in his or her classroom.

#Enough

No more school shootings.

#Enough

Stop the gun violence now.

#Enough

Protect kids not guns.

#Enough

Stop the NRA.

#Enough

Congress, you must act.

#Enough!

Congress, it is past time.  
You must immediately enact a comprehensive bill that will effectively address the gun violence issue in our country.  

#Enough

Our children have joined arms to 

March for Our Lives.

#Enough

Our children should never again have to run for their lives.

#Enough

Influential Women in My Life

Today as I have read many articles, blog posts, and Facebook posts about recognizing the women in our lives whom have inspired us, made a difference in our lives, or empowered us as women, I reflected on the many women I have known and and respected in my life as they touched my life as teachers, mentors, doctors, or friends.  Four women stand out when I think of the women whose influences in my life have been most profound.  I list these women in the order they entered my life.

The first woman on the list of four women whom have most influenced me is my oldest daughter, Keicha.  We always shared an affinity for books.  I remember when she was only in junior high she came home from school with a book she had checked out of the school library for me by Catherine Marshall.  I was going through a painful divorce from her father at the time.  The title of the book was, To Live Again.  She gave it to me to give me hope for my future.  Her insight into my pain, and her response to it showed me just how much this girl had the gift of insight into the needs of others and how she would respond to that need in the best way she knew to respond.  

As a daughter she has been one of the greatest supports I have had as we both grieved the loss of my beloved daughter Julie who was also Keicha’s beloved baby sister.  We talked nearly every day in those early days after Julie’s death.  We cried together and shared our pain and confusion.  We shared books and support materials that we found.  She gave me a listening ear, as I did the same for her.  We seemed to be on the same path as we grieved which was so very helpful to me personally.  We learned that not everyone grieves in the same way at the same rate of speed, but we seemed to walk the same path together.

After Julie’s death from suicide, Keicha joined a suicide support grief group.  She then went on to become deeply involved in doing all that she could to educate others on prevention of suicide.  She has walked in many walks for suicide prevention, raised a lot of money, and written public service announcements.  

Keicha began working as a young teen for a credit union before she even graduated from high school.  She then completed four years of college while working at the same credit union.  She recently retired from that organization after thirty years of service.  

Throughout her adult life, she has been involved in more community events to help those in need than I will ever know.  As a member of junior league she worked on many committees and served on many community boards that included Boys and Girls Clubs and the Ogden City Schools Foundation.  She now is executive director of a community based organization in Utah which provides mental health services for those in need.  

She recently bravely wrote about abuse that she suffered earlier in her life in a blog post. Her courage to confront the painful things in her life inspires me.   I am proud of the way she has used her many gifts to serve her community in a way that brings education and mental and physical health services to those in need.  

She is a woman who empowers other women.  She is also a supportive daughter to me, a supportive sister to her siblings, and a mother who deeply loves and encourages her daughter.  

**************

The next woman on my list is my second daughter Amy.  

Some say Amy is my mini me.  I know that we share many physical and emotional characteristics that have at times made it difficult for us to have a smooth sailing relationship, and yet we also have a bond that is probably one of the deepest bonds I’ve ever had with anyone in my life.  I have a difficult time writing about Amy because she mirrors my life so much that I find I cannot be objective about her when I write.

Amy is is strong-willed woman.  She was born this way.  That has been a gift to her and to me, but it has also presented challenges along the way.  

When Amy was a teen, I was a struggling single mom to Amy, her sister Julie, and her brother Jonathan.  I was barely making a living as a school secretary.  Amy got a job on the day she turned sixteen so she could provide the clothes, make-up, and activities that she wanted to have which I could not provide.  There were times when Amy stepped up and helped with the rent because an emergency here or there meant I was not going to have rent money.  She is sacrificial and always wants those she loves to have the best.  

This determined, independent girl child became a determined, independent woman.  She has a soft spot for others in pain, a smile that lights up a room, and a personality that matches that million dollar smile.  As a daughter, she will tell me “how it is” when I need to hear a word of truth.  She has given me some the best advice about matters of life that I have ever gotten from anyone.  

She has fought hard to come back from incredible loss after the death of her sister Julie.  She and Julie were inseparable, so Julie’s death hit Amy especially hard.  She went through a painful divorce as she dealt with her sister’s death.  Her brokenness has not broken her.  She is strong and resilient.  She is a survivor.  She is more than a survivor.  She thrives as she comes through each phase of her life.

I am incredibly proud of all that she has accomplished in life as an employee, as a partner to her former husband and to her current significant other, as a mother, as a sister, and as a daughter.  

*************

The next person on my list is my daughter-in-law Samantha.  She is married to my son Jonathan.

Dr. Samantha proudly showing off the chapter she wrote in a textbook used in her area of study.

I have known Samantha since she was a teenager when she first entered our lives as Jon’s girlfriend.  I have witnessed her grow from a girl who dropped out of high school to a professor of history with a PhD in history from Northeastern University in Boston, MA.  It would be difficult for me to begin to list all of the accomplishments that Samantha has had so far in her professional life.  She was offered a Fulbright Scholarship to study in Bangladesh.  She worked on her doctoral dissertation by doing research and living in Bangladesh with my son her son for a year and a half.  

This past year, she was hired as a tenure-track professor by the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs, gave birth to a new baby, nursed that baby, moved across country to begin her dream job teaching and working where her mentor once worked and taught, worked on a book she is writing, and bought a new house that she is working on.  All this while being physically separated due to educational pursuits from her husband, my son, and her oldest son both of whom remain in Pennsylvania while my son finishes his PhD.  

When Samantha steps into a class on Woman’s Studies to teach, those women she teaches are in for a treat.  She inspires me with her work ethic, her accomplishments, her intellectual acuity, and her ability to do all of this with a nursing baby at her breast.  Samantha, do you ever get to rest?

I truly have admired Samantha for her many gifts, her hard work, her intelligence, and I love to talk to her about a broad range of topics.  I most admire that she is such a loving and supportive wife to my son and fabulous mother to my grandsons while also always supporting her mother.  

She truly seeks to empower other women through education and social activism.

************

The last woman on this list is my daughter-in-law Sheridan.

I first met Sheridan when she was in college at the University of Utah when she worked at a retail outdoor equipment store with my daughter Julie while they both worked part-time and went to college.  Sheridan took Julie under her wing at work, and then she and Julie became roommates and best friends.  

Sheridan joined our family after Julie’s death when she met and married my oldest son Ryan.

While Sheridan earned a degree in English at the U of U, she also began a business with her sister.  Together, these two women built a business that has been very successful for many years.  She now is the owner of that business, a boutique in Salt Lake City called Hip and Humble.  She has created not just a successful business, she has created a successful brand.  She also works tirelessly on supporting the neighborhood where her business is located while also working to support other small businesses.  She holds leadership positions in the promotion of Small Business Saturday in November every year.  

Sheridan is an entrepreneur who serves women and empowers the women she employees.  She is a smart business woman with an eye for fashion and a gift for marketing.  She is one of the hardest working women I know.  Sheridan, do you ever sleep?

Sheridan is a wonderful wife and mother.  I so appreciate the way she loves,  encourages, and supports her step-children (my grandchildren) and her sons.  Sheridan empowers every woman fortunate enough to meet her.  She always gives me great understanding, love, and support.  

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These four women mean the world to me because they are family, but beyond that they truly have enriched and inspired me as a woman.  I am proud beyond measure of what they have accomplished in their personal and professional lives.  They are accomplished women who look out for other women.  They are honest and authentic.  They give to the community.  They have been able to carve out professional successes while also being wives, moms, sisters, and daughters.  I admire them.  I learn from them.  I am proud of them.  I am richly blessed to have these women in my life.  

I love each of you beyond measure.